


Moonlight Sonata

by EruditExperimenter, ZeNami



Series: Saboteur [3]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Body Horror, Brainwashing, Gen, Horror, Medical Horror, Mind Horror, Re-Education
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 06:04:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2954933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EruditExperimenter/pseuds/EruditExperimenter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeNami/pseuds/ZeNami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plotting a corporate downfall isn't a task lightly undertaken, and best not to be done on one's own.  In an effort to round out his team of saboteurs, Sergio turns to his usual partner in crime.  But de-education is a tricky business, and if done improperly Luciano Silva could go from being a crucial asset to a deadly liability.<br/>The authors recommend reading, 'Rhapsody in Re-Education,' prior to reading this piece.  RiR can be found in the authors' works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlight Sonata

The prospect of failure lent the pill held between Sergio’s fingers an improbable weight; unpredictable branches of possibility packed into a tiny, yellow capsule threatening to slip from the re-educator’s grip.

What if this didn’t work?  What if the de-education protocols didn’t take or had deteriorated over the years?  What if this _did_ work, but Luciano didn’t want to play ball?

Distractedly, Sergio’s tongue worried at the second molar on the right bottom side of his mouth.  

Among the many other talents and skills he was charged to cultivate and refine, building up immunities to numerous toxins had been one of his first priorities as a pupil under Ricardo.  The finer points of this gruesome initial piece of education were lost to him; an indistinct smear of pain and light due to his body coping with a near constant exposure to various poisons.  Even so, a human body could only take the building of its defenses against poisons so far, and there were some substances to which no immunity could ever be built under normal circumstances.  

But when did StrexCorp ever just settle over something so silly as human limitation?

As torturous as the toxins had been, the gene therapy Sergio underwent to make his body capable of the inhuman endurance needed to contend with them was immeasurably worse.

_And what has it all left you with?_

An immunity to most poisonous substances, a taste for nightshade berries, and four false molars.  

Each fake tooth was designed with a tiny compartment into which could be loaded specially made capsules.  As the capsule contents varied, so too did their effects.  Manipulation of the false molars by the tongue could cause a capsule to be freed from its place.  Cracked between the teeth, it would release its contents into the oral cavity.  From there, a breath could be drawn through the nose and exhaled again forcefully through the mouth, releasing with it whatever venom Sergio had concocted in vaporized form.  Most people didn’t take very well to a plume of toxic vapor being breathed directly into their faces, and very few expected it.  It was incredibly useful when dealing with unruly individuals, uncooperative employees, and annoying journalists.  

Or when managing recently de-educated multiples one had to put down in a hurry.

The pill in his hand and the possibilities it represented, however, made Sergio’s heart painfully twist within him.  Try as he might, Ricardo’s heir simply could not get the toxin into a concentrated formula effective enough to fit into one of his minuscule tooth capsules.  As such, this extra dose to be carried about with him was necessary, and actually holding it in his hand gave the tiny thing a gravity it would not otherwise possess if it was hidden away from view.

In essence, it was a coma in a capsule.

One from which Luciano would not wake unless given the proper antidote.

In the broadest sense, there appeared to be roughly four possible scenarios.  If all went according to plan, Luciano would be de-educated and join the cause to destroy StrexCorp.  If Luc failed to be de-educated, he would know Sergio was up to something, and doubtlessly alert the rest of the Strex Family.  If Luciano was successfully de-educated but decided not to help with Sergio, Marcus, and Jake’s efforts to dismantle StrexCorp, he would become a liability the company could discover and exploit.  It wouldn’t take much to capture and interrogate Luciano, and then everything would be over.  Worst of all, if the theatrical re-educator was successfully de-educated but chose to actively work _against_ Sergio and the others, he would make a formidable foe.  

He had no desire to kill Luciano.  He had no desire to kill anyone at StrexCorp.  But if his protege wasn’t going to cooperate, Sergio couldn’t very well have Luc running around as a loose end, jeopardizing the efforts to take apart the company.  

Sergio’s eyes strayed to the little pill once more.

_Plan for success, prepare for failure._

Unbidden, images of Daniel’s inert form surfaced in Sergio’s mind.

_No, no.  Not here.  Not now._

Taking a breath, Sergio palmed the pill, and looked about the lab in which his multiple plied his trade.

“Luciano?  Are you down here?”

As far as Luciano was concerned, everything was sunny--as evidenced by the bright smile he fixed his other with upon looking up from a microscope. Something black and oozing dripped from the slide, but he didn’t seem to notice, adjusting his latex gloves and stepping around the table.

“Sergio!” he chirped, beetle-black eyes wide with enthusiasm. “What a pleasant surprise. I thought you would be working at this hour…?”

He puzzled over it only briefly--had something come up? Was something wrong? Something unexpected? Would Sergio have come down to see him otherwise, or was he simply reading too much into a friendly visit? His mentor was also his best friend, after all. He thought not to worry about it.

Smiling, Sergio gave a noncommittal flick of his wrist.  “Nothing wrong with giving yourself a little break now and again, I think.”  

Though the elder re-educator did his best to conceal the anxiety crackling along his nerves, he could feel his heart hammering within him.  It was all he could do to keep his hands from shaking and his breathing steady.

“Luc, I don’t suppose you’re expecting anyone anytime soon, are you?”

“Hmm?”

Luciano glanced around for a moment, before humming a soft ‘mhmm’ as he located the black pocketbook resting on the corner of the table he’d been working at. Stripping off his potentially contaminated gloves, he picked up the planner and skimmed through to the current date.

“No, no appointments for the next three hours.” He snapped the leather pocketbook shut with a beaming grin, looking again to his multiple. “Why do you ask?”

_Ever the fastidious scientist._

Sergio wondered idly at the boxes of gloves Luciano burned through every month.  The speed and ease with which he changed out of and into a new pair was such that it gave the impression the scarred scientist had been born doing it.  

“I just have this piano composition I was considering using,” the elder re-educator drawled.  “I was wondering if you’d mind giving it a little test run. I don’t think it should take terribly long if you’re up to it.”

It wasn’t an unusual request - Luciano lent an ear in evaluating potential musical pieces for re-education procedures fairly frequently.

This particular work, however, was something a bit different.

“Oh? Is that all?”

Luciano chuckled, glancing toward the piano fondly as he set his day-planner down on the table. She was such an elegant creature, all glass and tendon, enamel and bone. And she sang to him so sweetly; how could he complain about testing a new piece? Letting Sergio’s pianist fingers dance on the synapses in his brain, all for the sake of scientific progress?

“Anything for you, double dearest,” he cooed, smiling widely as he strolled toward the padded chair in the center of the lab, currently folded gently from its table position. “I’d be delighted! I’m sure it’s lovely.”

“Thank you.”  

The practiced motions of preparing the piano for play helped to ease the apprehension that was making a jagged course through his veins.  Though as his lingered, Sergio found his thoughts dwelling on the instrument. Its innards clearly displayed through a transparent carapace, the elder re-educator felt his gut give a twist of loathing both at the monstrous piano and himself.  

How had he even _thought up_ something like this?  A biomechanical feat, the piano was a living thing, constructed equally of organic and inorganic components.  Its legs vanished into the floor in a mass of vessels that resembled a tangle of tree roots.  Through them, it drew sustenance from nutrient reserves housed below the lab that also fed the other biomechanical entities operating within.  Its strings and hammers were tendons, ligaments, cartilage, and bone.  Circulatory fluid thrummed through the piano propelled by the steady metronome beat of its hearts.  Made not of ivory, but bone and enamel, the keys stood out in proud rows of black and white, innervated, warm to the touch, and ready to realize the music in the mind of the player.  

Music that could re-educate.

Nanomachines were used quite commonly by Sergio in his practice as a re-educator.  Typically the ones he employed, once administered to his target, created networks throughout their central and peripheral nervous systems.  These could be used to relay information directly once some sort of connection could be established via an outside device controlled by a StrexCorp operative.   _Extracting_ information from a patient with the nanomachines, such as memories, thoughts, and dreams was a tricky business that remained, so far, imperfect.  Informational _input_ , however, was quite simple.  Once connected to a device under his control, Sergio could use the network created by the nanomachines to evoke all kinds of reactions from his clients.  He might not be able to extract their dreams, thoughts, or memories, but stimulation of the nerves and brain could certainly influence them.  

With Luciano connected to the piano, every key, note, and harmony held a scent, a memory, an emotion, a physical sensation; anything and everything.  Sergio could reprogram it so that the keys’ configuration and their relation to stimuli in the brain could be changed to whatever he desired.  Using the piano in conjunction with the nanomachine network, he could create pain or pleasure, joy or sorrow, peace or anger, dreams or nightmares; anything he could imagine.  Effectively, he could play a duet between the piano and a human instrument.

It was a demonic construct.  Sergio had grown and developed it, shredded countless minds with its music, and eventually gifted it to Luciano as a, ‘signing bonus’ after using the horrid thing to re-educate the synesthetic scientist.

Instrumental to tearing Luciano’s mind and will to pieces, it seemed somehow poetic that the piano would be the tool to restore him.

“Just…have a lay down on the table there, would you?” he requested, gesturing to the biomechanical operating surface that pulsed and breathed quietly beside his multiple.    Stretching his arms, Sergio folded his long fingers together, cracking the knuckles in a fluid gesture.  “[In case this is a bit more potent than I’m expecting.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rIHFLrjzgbA)”

Turning away from Luciano, Sergio laid his fingertips on the piano.

The musical piece chosen for Luciano’s re-education reversal was important.  

Inadvertently triggering his own de-education or someone else doing so by playing the tune would cause problems, so the scarred scientist’s cue had to be something he wasn’t likely to hear.  Having broken his multiple in the fires of the sun, it was only appropriate that Sergio put him back together in the light of the moon.

Doing his best to relax, Sergio began to play a reversed rendition of Moonlight Sonata and waited for the screaming to commence.

It was slow coming--like the dull roar of thunder hundreds of miles away. The sort of storm one didn’t concern themselves with, or dismissed as a problem for another day; sound, music, the thump of an organic pedal over the pulse-ridden structures under the floor. Luciano thought nothing of it as he lay himself down in the reclining lab seat, smiling peacefully up at the glow of the chandelier suspended overtop. How lovely it looked, spinning slowly in its golden light. How wondrous the music. How that light stung his eyes--how it burned into his blackened retinas and--

\--the first ebb of pain struck him, and his smile faltered; nervously, he looked toward his other, trying to crane his head to see the piano, to watch him play, to tell him there must have been something wrong. But just as he did, something seized him by the synapses and he gasped, entire body going rigid.

It was like an elegant hand, pinching the frayed end of a shimmering gold string, beginning to unravel the wool pulled over his eyes. And the light was bright. It was so bright.

“Sergio,” he called--a feeble warning, his voice wavering--only to be overcome by a scream as he felt something sear behind his eyes like hot iron. The younger scientist howled and clutched at his face, dislodging his glasses as he scratched and clawed as if trying to get something out; he thrashed in his seat as all the order, the structure, the delicate balance of untruths and sunshine came crashing down.

_He remembered being alone in a dark place, a dark, dark place, fingers forcing his mouth open, pushing sustenance past his clenching teeth; he remembered a place that sang in greens and yellows, a warmth on his skin come cold as toxic plumes of vapour licked down his throat and robbed him of movement. He remembered tight spaces, a vent; something small and cold clutched tightly in his palm. He remembered smiling, lying; he remembered what his face looked like in the mirror. He remembered what the **inside** of his face looked like in a mirror, paired with a scalpel and the same slender, dextrous fingers now thrumming music into his head, splintering the stained glass of illusion that he had been buried beneath for five years--_

\--and he screamed, and sobbed, writhing with his hands clamped over his face, blood trickling from his lower lip where he’d bitten it.

_He remembered frantically searching his home for remnants of his stolen research._

_He remembered an old piano, worn and well-loved, left abandoned in a place that held hardly a trace of himself anymore._

He remembered himself.

The scientist’s screams finally quelled and melted into whimpering, and he lay on the operating chair, breathing raggedly, hands clamped over his damaged eyes to block out that terrible, glaring light.

Sergio was at the other scientist’s side in a moment, kneeling and taking Luciano’s gloved hand into both of his.  Brow knit with concern, he leaned forward, grimacing in sympathy at the pain written plainly across Luciano’s features.

“Luc,” he ventured hesitantly, “can you hear me?”

The world was spinning, and Luciano urgently wanted to get the hell off the ride.

Instead, he could only grimace and groan faintly, reality briefly stalled by the throbbing behind his eyes. He felt like someone had put his brain through a meat grinder, and, being rather fond of that part of his anatomy, it did raise some concern.

He was still unaware of his surroundings, for the most part, when he managed a few words on the matter. “... Oh, god… my _head_ …”

Expression twisting in consternation, Sergio’s voice came as gently as he could manage, all the while his heart hammering so that he could hear it ringing in his head; almost drowning out the words as he spoke them.  

“I know,” he murmured, reaching out to brush a lock of hair from Luciano’s face.  “I'm so sorry - I wish I could have made things gentler; more gradual.  But, we simply don’t have the time.”

The little pill’s weight seemed to multiply as Sergio scrutinized Luciano’s reaction.  Such a delicate moment with so much hanging from it.  

He prayed, he hoped, he feared, and the capsule burned in his palm.

“Don’t--”

Luciano swatted at Sergio’s hand, flinching like he’d been burned; it was all flooding back, every scattered, faded memory of what he’d been put through by those hands, and the apprehension was powerful. Still, it was hard to focus on memories he didn’t want to recall--so he remained relatively grounded, glaring at Sergio through his throbbing headache behind his glasses as he put them back into their proper place, trying to sit up and failing as a wave of dizziness overcame him.

“What did you _do_ ,” he demanded--and then, as he got a good look around, he remembered he was still in the lab. His lab. His own lab, where he could see the processes and results of a dozen different ongoing experiments, the biologically heinous construction of the facility, the piano--all his, all his treasures, his grotesque and beautiful masks staring sightlessly back at him--

“What did…” He hesitated, expression softening from anger to a pained, anxious fear. He looked now to Sergio not with fury, but a pleading fright, seeking something stable to latch onto. His other. Despite everything... “What did _I_ do? What have I been--oh, _god_ …!”

“I know!” Sergio cried sharply.  Hesitating, he willed his pulse to slow, drawing in a breath to master himself before continuing at a gentler, though no less urgent tone.  “It’s alright - I went through the same thing.”

Ice water pulsed briefly through his heart at the look that bloomed in Luciano’s face; the fear setting out little tendrils to wind through his nerves.  Uncertain as to whether or not any form of touch would be welcome just yet, Sergio did his best to convey assurance and consolation in his manner, instead.

“It’s me,” he confessed.  “I'm the one responsible.  I’m the one who did this to you.”

And there it was; real and spoken and out in the world.  It had been one thing to apologize for what he had done to Jake.  While he certainly felt profound regret over his actions and the PA was no less worthy of efforts on Sergio’s behalf to make right what he had done, Lin was not close to the re-educator in the way that Luciano was.  While Vansten’s employee might have gone under the knife and experienced the beginnings of what was planned to be yet another masterpiece for StrexCorp, he had not been what Luciano was to Sergio.  

A magnum opus.  An artist made artwork.  His magnificent multiple.

All of it broken now; dashed against the rocks.

And yet…

“...But we’re going to make it right.”

_If he allows it._

Luciano had every right to deny the man who had torn apart his mind and re-sculpted it into something else.  

_Broke him.  Bled him.  Butchered him.  Made him like **you**._

“Just take some deep breaths.  Try to stay calm.”

Calm. _Calm_ , he thought, with a gloved hand clamped over his mouth against the nausea--what a sick joke, _calm_. The dam broken inside his head, everything was flooding back--where he’d come from, what had happened to him.... No. What _Sergio_ had done to him. Nightmares he had lived through, day by day, until the sunshine washed away all the pain. And music, once his refuge, had played the greatest part in Sergio’s stunning professional performance. It was _tainted_ by hands that cut, hands that twisted, hands that had planted the sunflowers grown tall to cover up the truth.

He could almost hear the music, still, sweetly spun through Sergio’s pianist fingers. _Angel of music, you deceived me…_

_I gave you my mind, blindly… ♫_

He’d trusted Sergio all this time, without ever knowing--without ever remembering--that all the pain had been at his hands. The hands of his own double. The hands that held his face and told him everything would be alright. Hands he’d grown to _love_.

“Oh,” he managed at last, looking away, and much like he was trying not to throw up. “This is so _fucking wrong_.”

“Unconditionally so,” Sergio agreed promptly.  “Madness floor to ceiling.  And…”

His throat tightened, every nerve on edge.

“...And if you want to leave right now and never look back, I won’t blame you - I’ll see to it that you’ll never be bothered again by Strex for the rest of your life.”

Sergio lifted his hands to his face, fingers fiddling with his glasses; desperate for something to occupy themselves with.  His throat tightening further as if to strangle the words from him, the re-educator continued in halting snippets as guilt closed fiery fingers about his heart.

“However...I confess part of the reason I...de-educated you...is that…”

Exhaling, the tension left him all at once.  It was like climbing the ladder to a high dive, all anxiety and anticipation building with each rung cleared, with every step taken down the length of the diving board until finally you stood, toes curled at the edge with nothing but space and water before you.  A deep breath, a hammering heart, and then the momentary infinity of hanging in space; a terminal calm and the faith that something would break your fall.

“...I need your help, Luc.”

While Sergio struggled to gather his thoughts through the guilt, Luciano occupied himself with removing himself bodily from leaning on the lab table, frantically brushing his sleeves and front as he stood, shuddering at how unpleasantly filthy he felt. He couldn’t believe the things that had transpired in this lab--so many of which were his own doing. He’d been a man of poor moral compass before, but seeing just how horrendous he’d gotten… it put it all in perspective.

He was so involved in this epiphany that he almost missed Sergio’s request. He looked up sharply, beetle-black eyes narrowed in mistrust, masking his fear.

“You _what_?”

“I need your help,” Sergio repeated.

The flowers withered from his words; the graceful ornament and artfulness leaving them.  They had no place here - let there be decor and decorum for other times and spaces.  It would be best to keep this simple; without dissemblance.  There had been enough of that and the hour of its usefulness was long since past.

His tone smoothed, his speech fluent and stark without the effort of gilding to get in the way.

“I chose you because you’re competent, resourceful, inventive, analytical.  You know this company like the back of your hand.  I can think of no one more qualified to help me in taking it apart.”

Luciano stared at his other for a moment in silence, eyes roving over his face.

He saw no lie in his expression; while Sergio had been responsible for what had happened to him, he seemed to genuinely regret it. And… even though the smiles, the pleasantries, the floral accents and golden linings had all been a ruse to cover the black tar inside of it all… the affection and reliance on his other were real. and they were still present. With the honesty laid stark between them, he couldn’t help but let down his guard.

“Flattery _will_ get you everywhere,” he muttered, glancing down a moment. It was nice to hear that Sergio genuinely did think of him highly, even though he’d torn him down and rebuilt him. But Strex had told him to do that, right? And Strex--Strex must have--

“Back up,” he said suddenly, holding up a hand for pause. “What you did to me wasn’t… entirely of your volition, was it…? What you did to me… Strex did to you, too, didn’t they?”

The re-educator froze, his eyes suddenly unfocused.

_Thank you so much for meeting with me!  I’m Sergio.  I suppose Mr. Vega’s already told you._

Clearing his throat, he looked askance, hesitating before meeting Luciano’s gaze again.

“Yes,” he confirmed.  “Not…”

He waved a hand, his previous resolve momentarily fractured.

“...Not in the same way, but yes.  I just didn’t realize it until recently.”

A rueful smile crossed his features; some drop of sweet, serpentine venom tinging his words as if sharing a private joke with the other man in the room.

“But I suppose that’s part and parcel of re-education, isn’t it?”

The venom was met automatically with sugar--a honey-sweet reflex still present in Luciano’s muscle memory that brought a sick smile to his face.

“Yes, it is. I should know.”

Realizing the grin that had wormed its way onto his scarred features, he frowned abruptly, rubbing his jaw in irritation, uttering a sharp _tsk_ of disgust.

“I am sick to _death_ of smiling.”

Sergio folded his hands together, still smiling his viper’s smile, voice heavy and saccharine and sharp edges folded in silk.  

“Well, then,” he purred, “what do you say we take off our happy face and give these peole something to frown about?”

Luciano scoffed, only too aware now of how Strex had permeated their collective presentation. How tightly those cords had been wound around his throat, pulling his hands where they needed to conduct, where they needed to play. Maestro of none.

_Put on a happy face._

“You know,” he uttered after a moment’s pause, his tone bitter--a sweet cherry stripped of the sweet flesh, leaving a hard pit-- “I think I can delay the _horrified panic_ long enough to do that, Sergio. I’m _not_ happy. now that I consider it, I’m actually fucking _livid_.”’

He met his other’s eyes. “For _both_ of us.”

“Excellent,” the elder replied curtly.  Something within him relaxed; anxiety and uncertainty dissolving.  Suddenly the little capsule clutched in his hand felt light; almost airy as it became possessed with a new purpose.

“Well, if that’s settled…”

Lifting the golden pill, the tiny object flashing under the harsh light of the lab, Sergio’s expression went steely.

“...I do believe I have a piano to put down.”

Without another word, Sergio turned and strode over to the monstrous instrument; a horror of biomechanics whose design was nurtured and crafted in the depths of the scientist’s mind.  A nightmare made real.

 _What the hammer?  what the chain,_   
_In what furnace was thy brain?_   
_What the anvil?  what dread grasp,_   
_Dare its deadly terrors clasp!_

Silent, he dropped the pill into the open area of exposed wiring and hammers, then slammed the lid shut and held it down with an effort.

This was no passive creature to step, acquiescent into the beyond.  No, this was a living thing - a predatory entity with no intention of going quiet into that good night.  There would be rage against the dying of the light.

It began to _scream_.

The clear fluid within its carapace bubbling violently, clouds of red blossomed like morbid flowers as blood vessels became visible - red, inflamed and pulsing before rupturing.  There was a sound of a great, liquid thrashing; as if some sea-going predator were drawing up an unnamed horror from unexplored oceanic chasms of such depth that their contents looked as if they belonged to some other world.  Wails that were at once utterly inhuman and yet altogether too familiar tore through the air like a thousand barbed hooks.  Nothing was clean - all ragged, ugly, and infected; a symphony to rake septic claws across the brain.  The exterior of the piano shuddered violently, the lid rattling underneath Sergio’s hands as the fluid within burbled through darker shades of red that collapsed finally into black, viscous sludge.

 _...Burning bright,_  
 _In the forest of the night:_   
_What immortal hand or eye,_   
_Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?_

Only then did the screams fade; spectral reverberations all that remained as Sergio lifted his hands away and stepped backward.

The noise in Luciano’s head was even worse--and it was then that he realized the nano machines coursing through his nervous system were still very much active.

He heard the instrument’s shrieking in the core of his mind, crawling down his spine like prying fingers, seeping into every nerve in his body and making him go rigid with horror. Even still, part of him cried out in mourning, as if he were losing a child; he watched the piano choke up with black muck, and he felt it as if it were in his own chest, a sense of loss underlying his righteous anger.

 _And what shoulder, and what art,_   
_Could twist the sinews of thy heart?_

No. He shook himself. No.

“Good riddance,” he spat, rejecting the ties as they fell away, growing cold to the connection he had once treasured. “That… that _thing_ is never getting back into my head.”  
  
“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Even if the scarred scientist was glad to see the piano go, Sergio knew that it would be best to get them out of the vicinity of its corpse as promptly as possible.  There was no time to dwell - only to move forward.  If they lingered, they would surely be lost.

Sergio’s manner shifted; solidified.  His fears were waning, replaced with a purpose his multiple now shared.  He favored Luciano with a congenial smile and a wicked glint in his eye.  

“Shall we see an angel about a corporate downfall?”

“Let’s,” the younger scientist replied with a certain degree of sharp professionalism, smoothing the lapels of his coat and standing up straight as he regained his composure. “And let’s be quick about it… there are some people I should like to call, if we make it out of this damned place in one piece.” There was a hesitation in his eyes, but it dissipated quickly. Work first. Estranged family later.

Despite himself, he smirked. It felt good to be back in his own skin again. “Double _dearest_.”

“Of course, _multiple mine_ ,” Sergio replied, returning the smirk.  “Always a pleasure to work with you, Luc.  I do so love our little _projects_.”

Sergio found himself donning his viperous visage once more.  Just a bit longer, and he would no longer need it.  He found his confidence mounting.  What was a long shot, next to impossible only an hour previously, suddenly seemed not so far out of grasp.

Destroy StrexCorp?

Why not?

“And I believe this is going to be our masterpiece.”

**Author's Note:**

> Luciano Silva belongs to ZeNami and can be see portrayed at: smilingindoctrinator.tumblr.com  
> Ricardo Vega belongs to timeanddivision.tumblr.com and has been jointly developed by them and rosylocks.tumblr.com and has been portrayed at both strexcorpsguardian.tumblr.com as well as strexcorpking.tumblrcom (deactivated)  
> Sergio Vega belongs to EruditExperimenter and can be seen portrayed at eruditexperimenter.tumblr.com  
> The Tyger is by William Blake


End file.
